Pax: Sin City Saints #3

In peak physical shape from hitting the gym hard in the offseason? Check. Officially the highest paid defenseman on the Sin City Saints? Check. Faking a relationship with a woman he’s secretly crazy in love with? Yeah, that’s a big check.

The son of a legendary pro basketball player, Pax Bishop was poised to follow in his father’s footsteps when life took him in another direction. Now a pro hockey player, he must find a way to reject the advances of the daughter of his team’s new owner without offending her.

Kylie Thomas gives Pax the perfect out. She’s single, and pretending to be attracted to her? That won’t be an issue for Pax, because he’s secretly had it bad for her since the day they met. He can’t let his true feelings show, though, because not only is Kylie a single mom and a widow, she’s Pax’s teammate’s sister.

Sometimes the truth hurts, but it can also be deeply, maddeningly good. The stakes are high as Pax opens his wounded heart in hopes he’s not the only one whose feelings are more than just a bluff.

Chapter One

Pax

 My teammate Eli reaches for the football that’s just out of his grasp, thumps into my chest and bounces off, sprawling into a nearby locker.

“What the hell?” he grumbles. “It’s like running into a brick wall, man.”

“Did you hurt your tender breasts?” another teammate, Pike, asks with a mocking frown.

“Have you ever hit him head on?” Eli asks, grimacing and rubbing his shoulder. 

“No, because he’s my teammate and I’m not a dumbass.”

They’re talking about me, and it’s at least the thousandth time I’ve heard the brick wall comparison. I’m six feet, six inches tall and 240 pounds, making me an absolute giant in pro hockey. Though I planned to play pro basketball, life had other plans for me, and instead I get to play the sport I’ve loved since I started playing at age six.

Eli and Pike are playing catch with a football to loosen up before practice, while other guys are dressing and stretching. Eli’s paying closer attention now, but not close enough to see it coming when I throw my arm out and intercept Pike’s next throw to him, only needing one hand to snag the football.

“You suck,” Eli says.

“Eat your veggies and maybe you’ll get big and strong, too, squirt,” I joke, tossing him the ball.

We’re just over a week away from the start of our second season, all of us eager to get back to competing. The Las Vegas Saints is an expansion team, and the core players from our first season are still here. Our arena is the biggest and best in the league, but it’s lacking the one thing players take the most pride in—championship banners. 

A group of us trained together during the offseason, and we’re ready to prove our place in the league. Last year we all came out of the gate at full speed, many of us wanting to beat our former teams and make them sorry they let us go. This year, though, the name of our game is discipline. We worked collectively and individually with a sports consultant, Hector, who only focuses on mindset. 

One of the only things hanging in our locker room is a small poster Hector put in place on his first day of working with us a few months ago. It’s simple—just a plain white background with a single word in bold, navy blue type: Together.

We set goals together because that’s the only way we can reach them—by relying on each other and working as one unit.

Pike sits next to me on the bench to put his skates on.

“You coming to the pool party tonight?” he asks me.

Immediately, I tense up. Of all my teammates, I’m closest to Pike, and I used to come to every pool party and poker night he hosted—which was a lot. Lately, though, I’ve been skipping them, and it’s getting harder to come up with excuses.

“I don’t know,” I say vaguely. “Is Diego back? My skates need sharpened and I don’t want anyone else doing it.”

“What’s up with you? You never come over anymore. Is it because of Indie?”

His girlfriend and her son Nolan moved in with Pike, and I think the world of them. My reason for being scarce at pool parties has nothing to do with them. 

“No, man. Indie’s great. I’m just busy.”

“Bullshit. What are you doing tonight that’s better than hanging out with me?”

Absently, I scratch the scruff on my jaw. What can I say I’m doing tonight? Cleaning my house? No, I have help with that. Going out? He’d ask who I’m going with, and since I usually only go out with teammates, that’s not a solid alibi since they’re all in the room right now and he’s likely to ask whoever I say I’m going out with to come to the pool party, too. 

“You’re literally trying to think of an excuse right now,” he says, exasperated. “Why don’t you just tell me what the deal is?”

If I told him, he’d punch me in the face on the spot. Well, he’d try to, anyway. And I wouldn’t blame him. I’m on the verge of telling him I don’t like swimming anymore (total lie), when our team captain Maverick Hagen walks into the locker room and I get a reprieve.

“Guys, we’re going to hang out in here for a few extra minutes before we hit the ice today. Coach Bear has someone he wants to introduce us to.”

Pike and I exchange a look. It has to be a new team member, and if Coach is bringing him in and introducing him, it’s a key player. Usually new guys just show up on their own.

Shit. We’ve been running like a well-oiled machine. Our offensive and defensive lines are in sync. We’re on the verge of starting a new season, and now is not the time to shake things up.

I study Maverick’s expression, trying to get a clue as to how bad he thinks this is. I can’t get a read on him, though.

We sit in relative silence until our backup goalie Dom looks up from the crossword puzzle he’s doing.

“What’s a ... nine letter word for ‘promised in marriage’?” he asks the room. “It should be engaged, but that’s only seven letters.”

Dude sucks at crossword puzzles, but he still does them during down time in the locker room and on road trips. At least half of the guys in the room look at me, because I’m always the one to give him the answer.

“Betrothed,” I say.

He scrunches his face in confusion. “You sure?”

“Yep.”

“How do you spell that?”

Coach Bear walks into the locker room then, and everyone falls silent. A man with salt and pepper hair and a blonde who looks like she’s in her twenties follow behind him. 

That dude is definitely not our new teammate, and neither is the woman. There are talented female hockey players out there, but none of them have fake double D tits. A flying puck to one of those implants would end it.

Now I’m even more intrigued about why these two are in our locker room. If we aren’t getting a new player, what’s going on?

“Boys, I’ve got good news,” Coach says, his expression not matching his tone.

When his brows are pushed together like that, it means he’s either pissed off or stressed. No matter what comes out of his mouth, I know this news is not good.

“I’d like you to meet Alexander Croft,” he says, gesturing to the middle-aged man standing next to him. “As of an hour ago, he’s our team’s new owner.”

What the fuck? For a couple of long seconds, you could hear a pin drop in the locker room. There hasn’t been a hint of a rumor about the team being sold. I sneak a glance at Maverick, who still isn’t giving anything thing away with his expression. 

“Hello, everyone,” Alexander Croft says. “As a big fan of both hockey and Las Vegas, I’m thrilled with the acquisition of this team. I plan to be a lot more hands-on than the previous owner, starting with having an office here at the arena. And I’d also like to introduce the team’s new Director of Marketing—my daughter, Cassidy.”

Cassidy steps forward, smiling as she scans the room.

“I’m really excited to be working with you guys,” she says, her roving eyes stopping on me. “We’re going to have a blast.”

Why is she looking at me like that? And what about our actual marketing director, Miranda? She just got promoted and it sounds like she’ll either be demoted or out of a job so the new owner’s daughter can “have a blast”. 

Cassidy’s greeting is met with the same silence as her father’s was. No one makes it to this level in hockey without putting in years of hard work. There are no shortcuts. So naturally we’re not fans of people who bypass the work and still reap the rewards.